Oh God, Don't Tell Me
by Samuraiko
Summary: Father Abel Nightroad and Sister Johanna Sinclair are used to crises, both solving them and creating them. But the two of them find themselves more than a bit flustered when the crisis in question involves dealing with the morning after the night before!


_Note: Yes, I am all too aware it has been ages and ages since I've put a story up on here. And I have no idea why, but I had this strange urge to write this. You can take it or leave it as you wish. But I think there's a certain resonance here... _

_And don't forget to vote in my poll, if you haven't already done so! (You can find it on my profile page.)_

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**OH GOD, DON'T TELL ME**

_It doesn't really matter_...

Abel Nightroad slowly came awake, with the vague sense that something was wrong. It didn't feel like danger... no, this was more like a sense of disquiet, of... sadness. And all the more strange because it seemed mingled with a sense of joy, but the sadness seemed stronger. It lingered from his dreams, like a faint scent, and underneath that, the impression of Johanna's voice, whispering to him.

Blearily he turned his head to look outside, and although half-blind without his glasses on, he could tell it was still rather early. And after the chaos of yesterday's assignment, and their celebratory dinner last night (which Johanna'd had to pay for, what with him being perpetually poor, of course), sleeping in was definitely something he intended to do before he and Johanna returned to Rome. Giving a loud yawn, he lifted his arms out from under the covers and stretched...

... only to have his right elbow bang into something.

"OW!"

Abel froze for a second, his entire body still, then he slowly turned his head to look to his right.

And saw a familiar, albeit very, _very_ wide, set of hazel eyes staring back at him.

For a long moment, Abel and Johanna stared at each other, aghast, neither one daring to move, to breathe, or even to think.

"Um, Johanna?" he finally managed to whisper.

"What?" she whispered back.

"This might be a _really_ foolish question to be asking, but... what are you doing in my bed?"

"I hate to tell you this, Abel, but YOUR bed-" she pointed over his shoulder to the left "-is over there."

_Okay, okay, don't panic_, Abel thought, his mind racing faster than some amok mechanical creation of the Professor's. _Think about this logically_...

Johanna's eyes shifted slightly to one side. "You've also got a spectacular looking red mark on your cheek."

Abel reached up and touched his left cheek, which felt slightly sore and tender. "Strange, I wasn't injured at all during our mission... in fact, it feels more like someone slapped me."

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, struck by a sudden thought. "Why do I have the taste of strawberries in my mouth?"

"I don't know," Johanna replied, frowning slightly. "As I remember, _I_ was the only one who had them at dinner... last... night..." Her voice trailed off in sudden embarrassment.

Abel's train of thought wasn't quite as fast as hers, though. "But if you're the only one who ate them, then why do _I_..." His train of thought caught up to hers, and his blue eyes went even wider. "Oh, no..."

"Most men would ENJOY being kissed by yours truly, I'll have you know," Johanna shot back with a glare. Then she gave a low groan and pulled the blankets up over her head. "This just keeps getting worse."

As discreetly as possible, the priest tried to figure out what was going on. A quick glance down at himself showed that he was still wearing his sleeping robes.

"Johanna?"

"What?" came a muffled voice.

"Are you... still dressed?"

"Yes."

Abel let out a silent sigh of relief.

"Unless you consider the fact that sleeping robes aren't all that much of a deterrent," she continued after a brief pause, and Abel's breath choked off mid-sigh as he jerked backward and promptly fell off the bed.

"And how would you know _that_?!" he yelped.

"You have no imagination whatsoever, Abel," he heard her reply wearily from under the blankets.

That did nothing for Abel's current state of mind, especially because her statement wasn't true, and he picked himself up off the floor and staggered into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

_Could they have really_... Abel shook his head angrily, trying to clear it as he stared at himself in the mirror. He could see the faint welt on his left cheek, and it really did look and feel like someone had slapped him across the face. And he could still taste strawberries in his mouth, but Johanna was right - she'd been the only one who had eaten them the previous evening. Turning on the faucet, he began splashing cold water on his face, wishing he'd been able to sleep a little longer before facing this embarrassing situation.

In the bedroom, Johanna's tousled head re-emerged from under the covers, hazel eyes thoughtful. "I might be able to guess what happened..."

Abel was almost afraid to hear her explanation, but he turned off the faucets so he could hear her better.

"We both had a lot to drink last night. After we got back here, for... whatever _ungodly_ reason, I decided to kiss you. You, being the gentleman you are, rejected my advances, and I promptly slapped you."

He thought about that for a little bit. "Well, that covers the first part. How did I get into your bed?"

"Did you get up last night to use the bathroom at all?"

Abel frowned, trying to remember. "Probably, we both _did_ have quite a bit to drink."

"Then you probably just climbed back into the wrong bed by mistake. And since we were both pretty drunk, neither of us realized it. So in the end, I guess it doesn't really matter."

In the bathroom, Abel froze, his blue eyes wide.

_Shared laughter.  
Johanna in his arms.  
Shared impulses.  
Bringing his lips down to hers.  
Shared tears.  
Her whispering in his ear..._

_It doesn't really matter._

"No..." he said out loud, staring at his own sorrowful image in the mirror and wishing away the sudden ache in his heart. "I guess it doesn't."


End file.
